Iratus
by Venator Noctis
Summary: It's not the fury of the moment one should be afraid of. It is the slow anger. The one that sits for years before forcing its way to the top, refusing to be denied. It burns across the battlefield, wrath and ruin devastating and all encompassing. Oneshot. During the Battle of Hogwarts.


The days had blurred together for Harry Potter. Everyday was the same. Wake, learn, set a goal, exceed, and ignored either way. Nothing caught anyone's attention, save for her. Oh Daphne... How he wished he could've been better for her. A better man than the wretched thing he obviously was, broken down and pathetic. Barely there. Dead inside.

Now if others had been in his position, they would've hated the world. Not Harry. At least, that was he liked to tell himself. The natural hatred and anger was shoved aside for love. Love for the people who wronged him. Love for the family that had ignored him for an arrogant sister. Family, after all, never ended in blood. He loved them, and that was his undoing.

He could not hate them, and learned that it was better to let go and move forward. One cannot move forward, however, without understanding what was behind you. Harry never came to terms with the anger he felt, and pushed it down. Deep inside. Anger like that, however, doesn't dissipate over the years. Nor does it rage uncontrollably either. Not yet. No it infects you, latching on to your heart and corrupting your soul. It twists you, until you forget the sunshine and the feel of grass. Where nothing matters, save for the anger.

Harry would not be consumed easily however, for he had a will of steel. Time conquers all however, even steel. So it was here, 21 years into his young life kissing Daphne Greengrass goodbye for the first time since he left her to spare her heart. That didn't matter now. He was going to die, and he couldn't hide from the feeling he had for her. He couldn't call it love really anymore, for in reality he never knew the feeling. It was there, of course, but he could not identify it. She was shocked, and her boyfriend and his best friend Blaise could only nod approvingly. He knew he loved her, even if he didn't.

Harry did not acknowledge the looks he received, ignored the pleading of his mother to join them in mourning for the dead or his father wanting to get to know a least a little about his estranged son, desperate to share the love he had denied the boy. Harry did not care. He went out into the court yard, ravaged by the battle of Hogwarts, and sat down on a stone. There he sat until the sun peaked over the mountains and reflected off the black lake. Just thinking.

When Voldemort and his entourage came for the second time, they found him there in the center contemplating. Voldemort laughed, but Harry could not comprehend his words. Vaguely he could hear what sounded like his mother shouting for him, and the aged voice of Dumbledore far behind him. They did not matter. He was far away in his thoughts. In each memory of neglect, each time he had been shunned. Finding Daphne cheating on him with Blaise. Of all the times he had pushed and prodded and broken. The feeling of abandonment. Then came the anger.

Harry's world suddenly went silent, and he looked up. Voldemort was laughing, jeering at him. Harry could feel the embarrassment he had endured for 21 years. To Harry, it seemed an eternity. He looked at him, and for the first time in years, his hand curled into a fist.

oOo

Harry's world came back into focus. His hands were wet, so was his face. Something was squishy in his hand. Confused, he looked down. His black robes were a dark Crimson, blood surrounding him. With an odd fascination, he looked around the courtyard. He was on Voldemort's side with 75 death eater bodies surrounding him, some missing body parts. The one in front of him had his throat ripped out, and Harry idly realized the man's jugular was in his hand. He didn't feel sick or anything.

He could see the severed heads of vampires, and the looks of horror on the faces of werewolves. He took another look at the man in front of him, and noticed that it was Voldemort. Funny that. W"asn't Rose supposed to kill him?

Eventually he looked back at the defenders. Some were dead, but not the important ones. His family stared at him with shock. Dumbledore was saddened, and Daphne...

She was horrified.

Perhaps the most surreal moment, the statement that would ring in all their heads for the rest of their lives was this:

"They made me angry."


End file.
